


and i'm painted black

by twohourstraffic



Series: take this sinking boat and point it home [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twohourstraffic/pseuds/twohourstraffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack worries about going back to work. Bitty tries to be supportive. It gets worse before it gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i'm painted black

Jack wouldn’t call himself particularly superstitious. He knows his dad had rules about who he sat next to on roadies. His mom could never shake his grandma’s beliefs about putting new shoes on the table or opening umbrellas inside. Ransom always had to wear two pairs of socks on exam days. But he’s starting to wonder if he should have touched wood when he said that he was feeling good in the lead-up to going back to work.

“So, you head into training in about a month,” Sam had said in their session. “How are you feeling about getting back into it all again?”

“I think I’m ready,” Jack had replied. “I’ve been skating regularly and jogging twice a day. Plus, I recently got back into the weight room. I guess I’ll be behind for a while, but I think I can pick everything up again.”

“And how has your mood been?”

“Good, I think,” Jack had breathed out heavily, trying to give the question the gravity it deserved. “It’s been a while since my last full-on panic attack. You know, not being able to breathe and stuff. Maybe a month?”

“That’s fantastic, Jack. I’m really happy for you. Obviously I want you to keep going with your journal, as long as it’s helpful, and keep coming to see me, but it sounds like you’re doing really well. Keep doing your best, OK? That's all you can do.”

Jack had just smiled.

He had been out for gelato with Bitty that night when his chest had started to tighten. They were sitting side-by-side on a park bench, Bitty swinging his feet as he recounted his mom’s latest office gossip. Jack had stared into the middle distance and dug his nails into his palm and tried to nod at the right time. He’d walked Bitty home before jumping in a cab. Slamming his front door had only made him feel slightly safer.

And now, here he is, four days later, sitting under a scorching hot shower, running his nails up and down his legs and watching mutely as angry red lines appear.

He’s not sure why he’s surprised. Everything falls apart eventually.

After a while, Jack heaves a sigh and reaches up to turn off the water. A few minutes of sitting in the steam leaves him shivering, so he forces himself off the ground and into a towel. He gets dressed in his dad’s old Habs hoodie and well-worn track pants, and ends up in a ball on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket. When he feels like this, he needs to numb his mind, so he turns on the home shopping channel and watches it blankly for a few hours.

He eventually heads to bed. He lies there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and nothing, until it’s time to get up again.

* * *

Bitty comes over the next night in an inordinately good mood, carrying a bagful of ingredients for lasagne and garlic bread. “I went out with some friends the other night and the lasagne was so subpar, I’ve been craving the real stuff ever since. I don’t think they even used real parmesan, which is just a sin in this day and age. Everything’s so accessible, honestly.”

He waves off Jack’s offers of assistance with a smile, so Jack just sits with his back to a cabinet on the kitchen floor and watches his boyfriend cook. Now he thinks about it, he isn’t sure when he last ate.

Jack offers to make the table, but Bitty just suggests they eat in front of the television. They stick on Food Network and Bitty gently chirps each of the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen while they demolish the lasagne.

Jack nods off in front of the television, exhausted by his recent nights of sleeplessness. Bitty wakes him a few hours later. “Come on, handsome. Let’s get you into bed.”

He stumbles into the bedroom and dives under the covers, too tired to brush his teeth or change. Bitty joins him a few minutes later, cosying up beside him and tucking his head under Jack’s chin. “You know you can tell me if there’s anything wrong, right?”

Jack just sighs and kisses the top of Bitty’s head. He falls asleep within minutes, just from listening to Bitty breathe.

He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he’s disoriented when he wakes up and rolls over to check the time on his cell. There’s a message from someone whose name he doesn’t recognise, and he scans it, confused, until he realises that it isn’t his phone.

Oh _God_.

It’s not his phone.

How could he do this? This is such a blatant betrayal of Bitty’s trust. He wouldn’t have left his cell there if he’d known that Jack would look at it, what if it was a private text and he wasn’t supposed to read it, oh god bitty was going to leave him and it was all going to shit and god fucking damn it bitty was the one good thing in his life right now and he was going to go away too and –

Jack can feel the impending panic attack before it even builds. He gets out of bed as gently as he can, then all but runs into the living room. He grabs his hoodie from where he left it next to the sofa that morning, and pulls it on, yanking the hood over his head. Then he makes his way over to the window, opens the curtain and sits cross-legged in front of it, resting his forehead on the glass.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, watching the occasional car drive past. Eventually, the sun starts to rise. He hears Bitty start to stir in the bedroom. A few minutes later, he hears a “Jack?” but doesn’t answer. Can’t answer.

He hears Bitty get out of bed and make his way slowly into the living room, pausing to pull a blanket off the bed. “Jack? Baby, how long have you been up?” Jack can’t even make eye contact, just shrugs, and Bitty sighs. “OK. Honey, I don’t know what’s wrong but I’m going to come over to you if that’s alright.”

Jack doesn’t respond, so Bitty only pauses for a few seconds before sitting down. Bitty clearly doesn’t have the same ability to sit quietly as Jack does, so after a few minutes, the silence is broken with “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Once Jack starts thinking about it, he can’t stop the tears that come to his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry, Bits, I didn’t realise what I was doing but I was trying to see the time and –” He takes a shuddering breath. “I read the message on your phone, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me, it was totally terrible and I just –” He physically can’t speak any more.

Bitty rests his forehead on Jack’s arm for a minute, but is clearly trying to keep giving him his space. “Jack, sweetheart, what are you talking about? I don’t mind if you looked at my phone.”

Jack isn’t quite sure why Bitty is still sitting there, hasn’t left and picked up his things and left. He sniffs loudly. “It was a total betrayal of your trust, Bits, you don’t have to lie to me. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Gently but forcefully, in a way that only he has perfected, Bitty grabs Jack by the shoulders and spins him around until they’re facing each other. “Jack. I am not mad at you. I’ll say it was an honest mistake if it would make you feel better, but it was barely even a mistake. You looked at my phone for the time. I don’t care. I still trust you. You don’t need to apologise.”

Jack feels supremely unconvinced, which Bitty can clearly see on his face. “Why don’t you go and write about it in your journal? Work out your thought patterns and stuff while I’ll make us some breakfast, and then you can try to get some more sleep, OK? Or we can just watch TV. Whatever you need to do, baby. But let’s have a quiet day.”

Not long after, Jack falls asleep on the couch with his cheek on Bitty’s knee, Bitty’s hands running through his hair, Bitty’s voice murmuring in his ear. It’s only for an hour or so, but he sleeps better than he has in a week.

* * *

**_group message: shitty knight, lardo duan, eric bittle_ **

**Eric:** hi guys

 **Eric:** i’m not sure how else to say this but

 **Eric:** i’m really worried about jack

 **Lardo:** Did something happen?

 **Eric:** um

 **Eric:** he’s not really sleeping

 **Eric:** and he’s spending a lot of time staring out windows with his hood up

 **Eric:** and i’m not sure that he’s eating when i’m not around

 **Lardo:** Jesus

 **Lardo:** Shits, where the fuck are you? We need all hands on deck

 **Shitty:** oh fuck

**shitty knight renamed the message: _jack support society_**

* * *

Jack has been sitting at his kitchen table, leg bouncing maniacally, writing a list of everything that he has to do before he goes back to work. After the twenty-second bullet line item, he notices that he’s changed bullet point styles, so he rips the list off the pad and starts again.

His phone rings from somewhere in the kitchen but he just ignores it. It stops, then rings again. And again. And again. Eventually, his phone makes a different noise. He sighs and goes to find it, unsurprised by the notifications when he does. 

 **Your Platonic Soulmate:** [4 missed calls]

 **Your Platonic Soulmate:** if u don’t pick up the next call i’m driving down

 **Your Platonic Soulmate:** i’m worried about you jack

Jack takes a deep breath, then phones him back. Shitty picks up on the second ring, but Jack breaks in before he can say anything. “You really don’t have to drive down, Shits. I was just in the middle of something, I’m fine.”

Shitty groans. “You’re _not_ fine, Jack. Bitty told us what’s been going on.” He pauses. “Just … don’t lie to me, bro. You don’t have to tell me everything, but please don’t lie to me?”

“What do you want me to say, Shitty? That everything feels like it did before college? That I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin and I can’t sleep and the only thing that keeps me centred is Bitty?” Once the dam breaks, there’s no holding anything back. “I feel like I’m suffocating him. I have to be suffocating him – hell, I’m suffocating _myself_ – and he deserves more than this, more than I can ever give him. Why would he want to put up with this? With me?” He breaks off into a sob. That keeps happening.

Shitty takes a minute to reply, clearly processing what Jack has said. “You’re not doing a great job of convincing me to not come down, Jack.”

“I hurt everything and everyone I touch, Shits. You only started at the firm a few months ago, I’m not letting you throw away your job over me.”

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Shitty mutters. “Jack, you melodramatic idiot, I’m not planning on throwing away my job. It’s a Friday afternoon, I could come tonight and be there for the weekend.”

Jack refuses to acknowledge that he’s lost track of what day it is, so he just hums noncommittally and starts doodling on the list. Then he catches himself – now he’ll have to start over.

“What are you thinking, Jack?”

“I don’t know.”

“If I don’t come down, where are you going to start?”

“I don’t know.”

Shitty breathes in and out, patient as a saint. Jack is never entirely sure of what he did to deserve their friendship, but he thanks God for it whenever he remembers. “I’m going to give you a list, OK? You don’t have to do anything on it if you don’t want to, but they might make you feel better. Have you got a piece of paper handy?”

Jack nods, before realising that Shitty can’t see him. “Yeah, I do. I was writing another list before you phoned.”

“Of course you were,” Shitty deadpans. “OK. First things first – make an appointment with Sam. That’s an important one, Jack. Please try? Go for a run. Shower. Drink some water. Do some stretches. Remember your affirmations.” He pauses, clearly running through the list in his mind. “Do you still keep that journal about your thought processes? If you do, go do some writing. Maybe some colouring. Watch David Attenborough documentaries if your brain starts racing.”

“I was watching home shopping the other day.”

Shitty laughs. “OK, or home shopping. Whatever floats your boat, brah. Get me a SlapChop if you see that commercial, they look amazing.”

Jack smiles. “Roger that.”

“I’d better go, babe. Take care of yourself, OK? Please? For me, if not for yourself? And phone me if you need me. Or talk to Bitty. Before the event. I don’t want to have to make another phone call to your parents.”

Jack sobers immediately. Not for the first time, he’s reminded of how much he affects other people in his life. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

“I know you will. Love you, man.”

“Yeah, Shits. I love you too.”

Jack hangs up and brings his forehead down to bang, gently, on the table.

* * *

Jack knows that Bitty is concerned about him, and rightly so. He deserves to know what’s going on, but Jack hasn’t found the strength in himself to talk about it. From the beginning, like Bitty deserves.

So he writes a note. He gives it to Bitty when he arrives the next day, and asks him to read it. Bitty takes it with a sad smile and a kiss, and makes his way over to the sofa, unfolding it as he goes. Jack has copied and recopied the note so many times, he could probably recite it in his sleep. For all he knows, he has been.

_~~Eric~~ _ _Bits,_

_Fuck, I know this is pathetic. Writing everything down in a note instead of telling you like a normal person. But I need to get some stuff off my chest and I’m scared that I won’t be able to tell you out loud. So writing it is._

_I’m fucked up. I know we met when I was mid-panic attack, and that sucked but you were amazing, but I’m fucked up. I’ve been dealing with this shit for a long time, since I was a teenager, and it’s not going anywhere. My parents have dealt with it and my college friends, and now the baton has been passed to you. You lucky thing. And you make me want to be better but, fuck … it’s a process._

_I’m terrified about going back to work. They gave me this year off after what happened last March and ~~I just~~ I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t think I’ll survive if it happens again. My career definitely won’t. _

_I don’t want you to get caught up in all of this, but if you are in it for the long haul like I am … you help. You help so much. Please don’t give up on me. If you’re unsure of what you can do, just be you. You can always try asking me but I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to tell you. Blue Planet usually helps. Or home shopping. ~~Which is lame, I know but~~ _

_I love you so much._

_Jack_

Jack hears Bitty sniff from the sofa and immediately assumes that this is the end of their relationship. He’s pushed Bitty too far. He readies himself for a breakup speech, but it doesn’t come. What does come, instead, is a hand on his shoulder and a kiss in his hair and a soothing voice in his ear.

“I love you, Jack. I’m in for the long haul, I promise you.”

“It’s not going to be easy, Eric. When I’m under pressure, I fall to pieces. Exhibit A,” he says self-deprecatingly as he gestures to himself.

“I didn’t sign up for easy, honey. I signed up for you.”

Jack smiles and feels some tension lift from his shoulders. Not all of it, not nearly, but the little bit of him that was convinced he was about to be single again has been quieted. For now.

“What are you going to do, going forward?” Bitty asks gently.

“I think I should make an appointment with Sam.”

“I think that’s a really good idea, Jack.” He comes around to sit on Jack’s lap, kissing him gently. They spend the evening judging the competitors on Food Network baking shows, before switching over to home shopping and falling asleep on the couch.

It’s not perfect. But it feels like a turning point. Maybe Jack doesn’t have to deal with all this alone.

* * *

Jack leaves for his first practice of the season with as positive an attitude as he can muster, a lump in his throat and a packed lunch, having had two sessions a week with Sam leading up to the big day. He greets his teammates with genuine enthusiasm. He smiles for the press and talks a big game about being glad to be back.

He’s doing his best.

**Author's Note:**

> Far too much of this was ~inspired by true events~. Stay strong, guys x
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://murrayhewitt.tumblr.com) if you so desire.


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